


Tick. Tick. Tick. Boom!

by stjarna



Series: Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week (Sept. 12-18, 2016) [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz putting his foot in his mouth, Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week, Gentle, I'm worried any detailed tags would give too much away, Jemma acting weird, Late Night Conversations, Plans For The Future, The title and summary sound way more serious than the story actually is, Tumblr: thefitzsimmonsnetwork, Writing prompt: Gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: All he had wanted to do was help out a colleague. But the kind gesture could have huge implications for their future.P.S. The title and summary may be deliberately misleading





	Tick. Tick. Tick. Boom!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 6 (Iain de Caestecker and Elizabeth Henstridge Appreciation || Writing Prompt: Gentle) of Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week Sept. 12-18, 2016 (organized by The Fitzsimmons Network)

“Gentle, Jemma, _please_ be gentle,” he pleads, palms out in front of him, moving slowly as if to stop her from doing something rash.

“I _am_ gentle!” Jemma replies, her voice full of irritation and agitation, “I’m a biochemist. I am perfectly capable of handling hazardous materials safely. I can handle _this_.”

“Are you comparing her to a hazardous material?” he asks and immediately regrets it.

“No,” she scoffs back, holding the screaming baby a half-arm’s length away from herself, “She is _not_ a hazardous material. She is a ticking time bomb _filled_ with hazardous materials; that’s what she is. Her screaming is just a reminder that at _any_ moment now she could explode from both ends with drool, and spit-up, and vomit, and excrements, and …pee!”

“You once dissected a cat and left its liver next to my lunch!” he blurts out. He immediately realizes his mistake but it’s too late.

“Why? Why would you bring up that _stupid_ cat now? _Why?_ ” she yells a bit too loudly, and glances back and forth between Fitz and the little girl, who has started screaming even louder, startled by Jemma’s voice.

“I was just trying to say that bodily fluids don’t usually freak you out and … Ummm,” he says calmly but somewhat nervously and takes a few rushed steps towards her, stretching out his arms, “Maybe _I_ should take her.”

Carefully, he takes the screaming infant from her arms, allowing her to rest her tired little head on his shoulder. Gently, he rocks side to side and bounces the baby up and down until the crying slowly subsides and she is nuzzled comfortably onto his shoulder.

“How did you do that?” she asks befuddled.

“Pick up baby. Rock baby. I don’t know. I just did. I didn’t really think about it.”

“Fantastic,” she snarls.

“What is wrong with you today, Jemma?”

“ _What is wrong with me?_ ” she whispers in the most yelling kind of whisper imaginable, just quiet enough not to wake the sleeping baby, “This whole thing was _your_ idea!” She points her finger at him angrily and continues in a terrible fake Scottish accent, “Oh, Agent Tompson, really? You haven’t been able to go out on a date with your wife since Elizabeth was born? Maybe we could babysit one of these days.”

“First of all, I sound _nothing_ like that, and second of all, I don’t think it’s so horrible to do something nice for a colleague. You could have stayed at home. I didn’t mind doing it alone. I told you so.”

“Oh, and spend another evening apart, when the Director keeps dragging me away every other week?” Her hands gesture wildly, “They said she would be asleep the whole time. I mean, _clearly_ they lied to us about that! And of course, she starts screaming bloody murder when _you’re_ in the bathroom! What were you doing in there for so long anyways? Writing the next great American novel?”

“I’m Scottish,” he replies reflexively.

She stares at him. Her eyes shimmer dangerously, furiously.

He takes a deep breath and tries to refocus.

“Jemma, she’s a baby. I’m no expert, but I’m fairly certain they don’t come with an exact rulebook to follow. Maybe she usually sleeps fine, but today she didn’t.”

“I can’t do this!” she turns her back on Fitz and the baby for a moment and runs her fingers through her hair, before turning back to face him. She gestures at the sleeping infant cuddled up on Fitz’s shoulder, “I _can’t_ do this.”

“Jemma, they’ll be back in two hours tops,” Fitz replies confused, “Why are you freaking out? I mean—and please don’t take this the wrong way—I know you’re maybe not the motherly type, but seriously, _two_ more hours!”

“That’s _not_ what I meant!” she blurts out.

“Then what did you…” It dawns on him. Slowly. “Jemma?”

She doesn’t look at him.

“Jemma, are you?” He can feel his heart pounding faster in his chest.

She sighs, “I… I don’t know.”

“But you’re…” He is trying to keep his breathing calm.

“Late,” she replies and her voice sounds defeated, “Considerably.”

“As in…” He looks at her wide-eyed.

“A whole week.”

“And usually you’re…”

“Not late,” she replies and shrugs her shoulders.

He exhales sharply, “Alright. That certainly explains some things about tonight.”

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure,” she tries to explain, “but I thought it would be too risky to run a test at the lab. Someone could have noticed. And I haven’t had a chance to buy a standard test. And I’m not ready. I’m not made for this! I mean, I held her like a bloody rugby ball.”

“That’s how you hold a rugby?” He squints his eyes for a second then carefully reopens them to see her reaction. Something about this night seems to make him drop one clanger after another.

“Not the point, Fitz?!?” she growls through her teeth.

“Right! Sorry,” He takes a deep breath, “So. First, I want to apologize for the not-the-motherly-type comment, because that may have been a bit hurtful, especially considering what you just told me. Secondly, we’ve never talked about this, and my assumption is that it’s because neither of us has really thought about it before. Thirdly, I’m not sure what to say… or do… and I’m sorry for that. And finally, have you thought about what _you_ want? Because, this is a big deal, and it’s an important decision, and I’m hoping to be a part of it, but ultimately, this is your body, and your choice, and…”

He stops talking when he hears the front door open, “I didn’t talk for two hours, did I?”

She shakes her head.

Nervously, he turns to look out the half-open door. They’re spies, in a spy’s home. Better safe than sorry.

He exhales sharply and relaxes when he sees Agent Tompson and his wife quietly sneak up the stairs, smiling and waving shyly when they see him and Jemma through the door.

“You seem home early?” Jemma whispers. Her voice trembles nervously and the smile on her face looks forced.

“I know,” Agent Tompson replies, “We were going to see a movie after dinner, but once we reached dessert we realized…”

“…that we had spent a good 90% of our time talking about Elizabeth,” his wife finishes.

“First night out in months….” Tompson says.

“… away from the screaming…” his wife jokes.

“…and yet here we are home early because we missed her too much.”

“That’s … sweet,” Jemma says thoughtfully.

“Was everything okay?” Tompson’s wife asks and carefully takes the sleeping baby from Fitz.

“Yes,” Fitz replies, rubbing the back of his neck, “yes. She woke up, but … umm… she calmed down quickly.”

“Oh good!” Tompson says relieved. He is standing next to his wife and gently tickles his daughter’s chubby cheek, “Thanks so much for everything tonight.”

“No worries,” Fitz says. He glances over at Jemma and notices that she seems to be rooted to the spot, staring at the couple holding their baby with wide, petrified eyes, “We…. ummm… We should head home. You stay right here… with Elizabeth. We can let ourselves out.”

“Thank you,” Tompson’s wife says, “Have a safe drive home.”

Gently Fitz tugs on Jemma’s sleeve and pulls her with him. The couple is so mesmerized by their sleeping child that they don’t seem to notice or care that Jemma leaves without saying goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Their ride home starts out quiet. Fitz keeps glancing over at Jemma, but her silent stare and the serious look on her face tell him that she doesn’t want to talk yet, that she’s still analyzing the situation. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t object when he pulls into a parking lot and leaves the car to head to a 24h convenience store.

He returns with a small plastic bag and hands it to her before squeezing back behind the steering wheel. She peeks inside the bag, then looks at him somewhat surprised, “Three? Really?”

“Thought this is something where we might want to run multiple samples? Triple-check the results?”

“Suppose so,” she says quietly, her mind clearly still elsewhere, “I can't believe you went in there and bought that. Just like that. No sign of hesitation or apprehension.”

“Considering that I can safely avoid _this_ convenience store for the rest of my life if I wanted to because there's another one just like it at every corner of this city, I wasn’t too concerned about weird looks. Plus, the guy behind the register was far too eager to get back to whatever video game he was playing on his phone to pay attention to what I was buying,” he tries to lighten the mood.

A weak smile hushes across her face.

He smiles back at her, genuinely, encouragingly. Then he turns on the engine to head back to their apartment.

 

* * *

 

Once they’re home, she heads straight for the bathroom with the small plastic bag. Fitz sits down on the edge of their bed, letting his fingers play nervously.

She returns after only a few minutes.

“That was quick,” he comments.

“Yes, well,” she replies, “turns out I didn’t need the tests anymore.”

He looks at her, “Oh. So, you got…”

“Yes.”

“Well, that clears things up,” he replies and wrinkles his forehead, “I wonder how many people have ever returned a pregnancy test.”

“Or three,” she chuckles and sits down on the bed next to him.

“So. How do you feel now?” he asks and gently rubs her back.

“I'm not sure,” she answers and rests her hand on his knee. Absentmindedly, her thumb draws little circles on his pants, “Relieved, in part. But also ... I don't know. You were right. I'm not the motherly type, but you looked so,” she looks at him, “... _natural_ with her. The way you held her. Calmed her. I'm afraid I wouldn’t be able to do that. I would be a terrible mother!”

She turns her face away from him and looks to the floor.

“Hey, that's not true,” he turns slightly on the bed to look at her more directly and grabs her hand, squeezing it gently, “You have a big, loving heart! And maybe Elizabeth and you got off to a rough start but if you had a baby, I believe… No… I _know_ you would be a wonderful, loving, strong, smart, and extremely well-organized mother.”

She laughs begrudgingly and glances over at him, a hint of a grateful smile on her lips.

“And so what if I'm more natural at it,” Fitz continues, “Let's face it: we've reversed stereotypical gender roles on more than one occasion. And I don't care. I don't buy into that kinda thing. So I'll be the motherly type and you'll be the mother.”

She chuckles. Her free hand reaches for his cheek; her eyes radiate gratitude. Then she sighs and lets her hand drop back into her lap, “Yes, well. There is unfortunately _one_ part of becoming a parent where role reversal is practically impossible.”

“There are ways to have a kid without pregnancy,” he replies, “I mean, _technically_ there's always a pregnancy, but it wouldn't have to be _you_.”

“Adoption?”

“Why not?” he shrugs his shoulders, “Or fostering? Or fostering with the intent to adopt? There are so many children who need a home, need a family. Just think about how different Daisy's life could have been if someone had adopted her into a loving home as a baby or as a kid or even as a teenager? Or if a foster family had taken her in who actually gave a damn?”

“Well, we wouldn't have met her then,” Jemma counters her usual logical self.

“Not exactly the point I was trying to make.”

“I know,” she sighs. Her eyes wander away from his face. She remains quiet. Thoughtful.

“Look,” Fitz breaks the silence, “You're _not_ pregnant. So this isn't a decision we have to make right now, but maybe we should take this as an opportunity to talk about it and figure out what we want in the long run. Together.”

She looks back at him and nods, “Together!” She smiles for a moment, then adds, “But not tonight. I’m exhausted.” She closes her eyes for a moment and exhales sharply.

“Definitely not tonight,” he replies. He presses the palm of his hand against his right ear and rubs it, “My ears are still ringing from what can only be described as the most deafening noise on this planet!”

“Oh, so _now_ you admit that?” she asks.

“Who said I was talking about the baby,” he teases her and she slaps him on the arm.

He chuckles.

“What?” She tilts her head slightly to one side and looks at him questioningly.

“I just remembered how you compared Elizabeth to a time-bomb filled with hazardous materials.” He can’t suppress another laugh.

“Oh shut up Fitz!” she protests, but can’t stop from snickering herself.

His hand reaches for her face and his thumb gently strokes her cheek as he looks into her brown eyes, “Yep. We’re clearly not ready for any of this.”

“No,” she replies and smiles, “Not yet.”


End file.
